Remus
by Claywind
Summary: Remus Lupin is not Harry's godfather. He has no say in whose home the boy lives. He is also a pariah with no stable income, and nobody in their right mind (himself included) would ever entrust him with a young child. Remus knows all of this. Moony does not care.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything but the plot

 **Rating:** M for adult themes, child abuse, swear words and embarrassing sex talks

 **Warnings:** Quite a bit of Dumbledore _character re-interpretation_.

 **1\. Prologue**

The 31st of October 1980 was a very cold night, not that Remus paid it much attention. Curled in a thinning blanket next to the window of his derelict shelter, his eyes were trailed on the darkened edges of the forest.

The small wooden cabin used to be the lodging of muggle wanderers. Or woodcutters, maybe, he was not sure. What he knew, was that the coming of winter had seen the cabin abandoned, for which he was grateful. He had claimed the four walls for himself, as a place to spend the full moons away from everyone.

Not that he spent the rest of the month elsewhere.

He pushed the thought away, but, as usual, it refused to leave. No wizard would rent a place to someone like him. Or they would, and _then_ , they would eventually notice the signs and become less and less cordial, less and less polite, until they simply told him to leave.

Employment was the same struggle with prejudice and fear. Finding work was hard, keeping it impossible.

As for the muggle world… With the war, Ministry laws had gotten more stringent about protecting the non-magical populace from dark wizards, dark magic and dark creatures.

He was not sure what the penalty was these days – it was harsher every time he checked – and honestly, he was not going to chance it.

Though it would be nice to have a job he could keep more than a couple of weeks… Remus sighed and wrenched his thoughts away from fantasies of being treated with basic respect by people who were not his closest friends.

He turned his attention to the dirty window pane. In the dim light, the rust-coloured stains looked like dried blood on the glass. He briefly thought about spelling it clean but cast the idea aside, for the same reasons he had not attempted to furnish his shelter with magic. What if a muggle dropped by and noticed the changes? As stupid as that logic was, it would still hold against him in court. He would not risk it.

Compromising Secrecy was a major offense. A normal wizard might get away with a little bit of redecorating, but a werewolf? He would be lucky if Azkaban was all he got sentenced with.

Beasts deserved to live in filth.

He winced, fighting the surge of– _anger, growl, fight,_ –and took a few deep breaths. The ache in his bones settled, and he peered at the sky.

The moon was only a slim waxing crescent in the darkness but Moony was unusually agitated, even for the eve of _Samh-_ Halloween.

He breathed.

In the middle of the forest, no child would come knocking at his door. Even if one did, his budget was strict, and candies were non-essentials. Though he might still have a handful of those honeyed things Sirius had given him the other week.

He smiled.

The self-exiled Black was a wonderful idiot who knew all Remus' weaknesses, most notably his sweet tooth. Thinking of his friend lit a small warmth in his chest. Maybe Sirius would bring more candies the next time he came by.

Maybe he would not be bruised and exhausted, like he had been all this month.

Remus closed his eyes. Three years of war had taken their toll on them all. On him too, more than he would like to admit. Constantly fighting against Death Eaters and dark magic. Most of the time, he felt more as if he was fighting against himself, and Moony, and the unspoken prejudices of his allies.

He breathed deeply, fighting the tightness in his chest, the burning wetness in his eyes. Moments that should have been of peace and friendship, and family, were spent instead enduring the mistrust of his own _pa_ \- friends.

He clenched his fists and pushed all the dark thoughts away.

Things would get better. They had to.

They could not really get worse.

Ѻ

Seven hours later, his world shattered.

Ѻ

 **Remus' treatment in the books always bothered me. We don't have much info on the whole werewolf life, except that it sucks. So I'm taking liberties, here.**

 **Anyway, here's my attempt at making Remus make sense.**

 **Hope you'll enjoy and comment,**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Claywind**


	2. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer:** this is a FAN-fiction. So, yeah, I don't own anything.

 **2\. Hide and Seek**

Remus had no idea what he was doing.

What was he looking for? Why here of all places? Why now, four years after everything went to hell? Was he even looking for anything?

His feet were dragging him through pristine suburban streets and, even if he stuck out like a sore thumb with his faded clothes and his worn-down shoes, he kept walking.

He had no idea what he was doing, and yet, another part of him felt as quietly focused as a hunter tracking its prey.

It had taken a lot of digging to find the place.

Oh, of course, all files concerning the matter were securely held by the Ministry, which was still vehemently against everything dark, including him. No amount of pleading or evidence of his connexion to the child would ever make any bureaucrat budge on the matter. To be truthful, he had not even considered asking. Going there would always be a waste of time.

But the Ministry was not the only place where one could gather information, and wizards not the only beings who had a memory.

He had gone to Cokeworth, where he knew Lily had grown up. Her parents had passed on, sadly, but the neighbours were still there. Most did not know much, but some remembered titbits of conversations, shreds of knowledge that he had carefully pieced together.

It was easier, once he had a name, to scour phone books until he found the right region to search. And from there, he used magic. The house was unplottable, but the schools were not.

And he had found the school and he thought he may have seen a glimpse of a dark mop of hair in the schoolyard, but the child had run away from a bunch of laughing boys, and he had lost sight of them.

During the whole search his mind had been surprisingly quiet, and he had relished in the peace. It was rare that Moony just… let him be. The more striking memories of such moments were from the war, when they were both fighting Death Eaters.

Survival was a concept familiar to both human and lupine minds, so maybe this quiet and intense focus was also shared between them.

Remus did not know what he was doing but, perhaps, Moony knew.

Small comfort.

Why had he gone to such lengths, just to _know_ where…

It felt like something that needed to be done.

He needed to see Harry, to see the _cub-_ boy with his own eyes, to see him alive, breathing, smiling, to make sure he was-

There.

Hiding in the small space between a garbage container and the bricked wall of a back alley. Wide green eyes under a wild mop of hair, peering at him with apprehension.

 _Cub_ , his heart grumbled, and the wolf's feeling was almost a word on his tongue.

"Harry," he said instead. "You are… I mean…"

The child kept staring, throwing furtive glances at the main street every few seconds.

"Do you know me, sir?" Harry asked, and if there was still a good dose of wariness in his tone and posture, there was also curiosity.

"If I… yes, I do, actually." Remus crouched to be eye-level and offered the child his most genuine smile. "My name is Remus Lupin. I was a good friend of your parents."

Harry's eyes lit up.

"Really?" He then seemed to shrink on himself and whispered "I… sorry."

"It's alright," Remus replied, puzzled at the apology.

An awkward silence followed. He had found the _c-_ Harry, and now felt unsure of his purpose here.

"So, um," he attempted, "how are you doing?"

The child stared at him.

"I'm hiding," he eventually said. "From Dudley." Small pause. "My cousin."

"Oh, are you playing hide and seek?" he asked, smiling softly. "Well I'd say you picked a good place."

Harry nodded with great serious.

"I know all the good places to hide," the child added. "This one is good because, even if they find me, I can still get away most of the time." He gestured vaguely at the grillage further in the alley. "Dudley can't climb these, and Piers doesn't chase me without him."

Chase?

"What… kind of game are you playing, Harry?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, _I'm_ not playing, sir. Dudley and Piers are, though, so I think that still makes it a game. But it's not very fun."

"Harry," Remus said cautiously, "if you don't like this game your cousin is playing, you should go to your aunt and tell her."

Harry stared at him.

"Why?" the child eventually asked.

"So that your aunt tells your cousin to stop chasing you when you don't want to."

"Um, she won't do that, sir."

"What are you saying, of course, she-…" He paused. And looked at the scrawny five years old, swimming in clothes too big for him and hiding in a dark alleyway.

A doubt crept in his mind.

"Harry," he asked again, "how do you know that she will not make your cousin stop?"

New shrug.

"She's happy when he and Piers get me, I can tell because she's kind of smiling then. But if they get hurt, it's my fault, so I've got to choose my hiding spots well."

The doubt was becoming certitude. Remus could even feel Moony vaguely stirring. He breathed, trying to soothe the wolf back into sleep while Harry looked in the distance.

"And she's never stopped Uncle Vernon when he's chasing me," Harry added softly, playing with his fingers, "and he hurts a lot more."

Remus snapped back to the outside world.

"What."

Harry shrank from his sharp tone, almost disappearing in his little crevice. Remus shook his head and gentled his expression.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I did not mean to frighten you. Can you explain what you just said?"

The shrug this time, was careful, hesitant.

"There's not much to say," the child mumbled.

"Still, I would like to know. How does your uncle… hurt you more?"

"Um." Harry glanced at the street and kept his eyes there. There was the sound of a passing car. "He throws things at me."

At the back of his mind, Moony was very quiet.

"Does this happen often?"

It was not a peaceful kind of quiet.

"Sometimes," Harry shrugged, his attention settling on the ground. "When I'm no good at stuff."

It felt more like the calm before the storm.

"Stuff?" Remus prompted, ignoring the quiet vibration of the wolf's anger.

"When I put the dishes wrong. Or if I let things fall to the floor. Or if I burn the food. He doesn't like it when the food is burned. I try to stay away, when that happens."

"Away?"

Harry nodded and stole glance his way before he resumed staring at the ground.

"He throws things because I'm too far to reach. He only gets up when I've done really bad things."

"What kind of bad things?"

More fidgeting from Harry.

"When things break," the child whispered. "Or when they… act weird."

"And what does he do when… weird things happen, and he gets up? What does he do to you, Harry?"

He feigned not to notice the child biting his bottom lip and avoiding his gaze.

"'m not s'pposed to tell," was the mumble to follow.

Cold dread settled in his stomach. Moony was fully awake, the beginning of a snarl building in their chest, and for once, Remus did not care.

"Listen, Harry, I've… I've come here to check up on you, to make sure you were alright, do you understand?" The child nodded, still staring at everything but him. "If your uncle is hurting you, then it's really important that you tell me. Please, Harry, let me help you. What does he do?"

"He…" the voice was barely a whisper. "He hits me. With his belt. Or he throws me in my cupboard and he locks the door."

"Is there more?" Remus asked, blood pounding at his temples. "Does he do anything else? Anything more that you don't like."

It was hard to keep his voice gentle and his posture nonthreatening, with Moony yowling for blood inside.

His skin was too hot, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.

Harry shrugged, his eyes still focused on the pebbles at their feet and gave a tiny nod.

"Sometimes," he breathed, "during the night. I don't… I don't like it when he comes at night."

There was a cracking sound, like a too tight rope, snapping.

Harry was staring at him with wide green eyes.

Everything went a bit fuzzy.

Ѻ

When he came back to his senses, he was in his flat.

His throat felt parched, his hands damp, and there was a slowly receding pressure at the back of his head.

He looked around the shabby furniture of his minuscule muggle dwelling and spotted a tiny shape curled on his bed.

Harry was asleep, wrapped in a worn blanket that Remus knew to be too scratchy to be comfortable.

He looked around again. The door was closed, the only window as well, and he had a feeling that, had there been hangings, those would have been shut.

Looking for more clues – and feeling a bit awkward just standing there watching a child sleep – he walked to the side of the room that he called kitchen. There was a half-empty glass of water next to the sink. He drank it. Then, he poured himself another one.

And only then, did he start to think.

What had happened?

What _the bloody hell_ had happened?

The mild ache in his bones was the same – if dulled – as what he usually endured after his transformations, but it made no sense. New moon had been two nights ago, there was no way he could have transformed in broad daylight at basically the safest time of the month!

That was when he realized something else.

Moony was silent.

Not the focused quiet of the waxing and waning crescents, not the half-asleep state of the new moon' week, not even the tense whisper of calm just before moonlight crushed his bones and split his flesh.

Moony was utterly and completely silent.

No matter how many times Remus had wished this would happen, the reality of it was unsettling.

He looked back at Harry. The wolf's anger was not fuelling his own, but he had plenty enough just by himself.

Harry. Harry had spent four years being hurt and abused and- _gods_. It hurt to even think about it.

He sat in the room's only chair and took his head in his hands.

Where had he been all this time? Crying over his own losses, licking his wounds and wallowing in despair. He had done nothing to help, and he should have, and Harry was hurt, and _it was his fault_.

He blinked away the hot mess leaking from his eyes and stood.

Enough self-pitying. It was time to act, and he knew exactly what he had to do. Five steps took him to the small bed where the child was still curled, and he knelt there.

"I'll take care of you, Harry." His fist clenched in the blanket. "I swear this on my life. No one will hurt you anymore."

It was not a Life Vow.

He was pretty sure the magic took hold anyway.

Ѻ

 **As far as I'm concerned, Remus is way too passive in the books. He's basically Harry's unofficial godfather, and he never even attempts to meet the kid? Trauma and guilt can only explain so much.**

 **But, hey, this is fanfiction ! I get to write about what could have happened had Remus gotten his act together. And I love doing so.**


	3. Abduction

**Disclaimer:** The source material is not mine ! It is not mine, I tell you !

 **3\. Abduction**

He did not dare go to Dumbledore.

For all his grandfatherly kindness, the man had been oblivious to Harry's treatment at the hands of his relatives – he could still feel a slow-simmering rage, warning him that his current anger at the wizened wizard would be long to fade.

Dumbledore had promised him that Harry was safe, stated that the child was behind the protection of blood wards, that nothing – not even the Dark Lord resurrected – could hurt him there.

Had the headmaster lied to his face, Remus wondered, or had he not once thought to check?

Whichever it was, Remus refused to take chances. Harry was with him, now, he would take care of the child. He had promised.

But he was a werewolf. There was no was any kind of Ministry authority would allow him to take guardianship of a child, Harry Potter even less.

He would find no help among wizards, not when his only friends there were-

 _No. Focus._

Deep breath.

The Wizarding World was out of question, which meant no going to Gringotts either. Not that he had much in his vault, but it would have been nice not to leave with just the clothes on his back.

Muggle, then, and out of the country to be sure. He had no blood wards to protect Harry, but he could certainly keep the child away from Death Eaters and their sympathisers.

That left him with the means of travel. International portkeys required Ministry approval, and even if he could somehow secure one, his name and destination would be in Ministry files, for anyone to look up. Besides, he was pretty sure portkeys could be tracked.

He supposed he could board one of those "planes" he kept hearing of, but the idea of being flung into the air at high speed without the safety of magic left him queasy. He rationalized that a plane was probably too expensive and the next place people would look for him.

Boat it was, then, which limited his options to nearby Europe.

He was wary of attempting to sail eastward. The seas could be treacherous, and the Nordic wizarding communities had always been described to him as barbarians made insane by wild ritual uses. Though considering what was being told about werewolves, there was probably some exaggeration.

He was used to taking everything the Prophet printed with a grain (a spoonful, really) of salt, but every tale had a seed of truth, and he was not keen on finding out first hand.

And he did not like being cold.

As for more southern options… France was rumoured to be more accepting of creatures in general, and, despite the havoc left by the first wizarding war, Germany still had a very strong dark culture.

Dark magic there was much less strictly regulated, and its practice was punished only when an actual crime had been committed. However, it did not mean that the country in general was unbiased when it came to creatures, light or dark.

A few more minutes of pondering decided him for France. Dark magic was just as illegal in France as it was in Britain, and thus a werewolf would still be regarded with some mistrust, but at least he would be legally allowed to find work.

Another thought was that he did not want his cub to grow in an environment where dark magic was a normal thing to practice.

With a destination, the rest of his plan formed quickly. He needed to reach the coast with Harry, and he had better do it before the Ministry closed all borders. Remus winced. To the eyes of the law, he was a stranger taking a child away from his family. No matter how horrid the family in question was, it was still kidnapping.

He was kidnapping Harry Potter. For his own good. He winced, knowing how weak the excuse felt, but he was not going to change his mind, so there was no point twisting himself up about the moral implications.

He refocused on his plans. They would need transportation to the coast, and when they reached France as well. Something fast, that could pass for muggle.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the taste of bile at the back of his mouth.

Thinking of Sirius was always an open wound.

He steeled himself. His priority was Harry, and the motorbike _would_ be useful. He just had to go and get it.

A rustle of cloth interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to find Harry, wrapped in his thin blanket looking at him hesitantly through glasses that were askew.

His previous concerns about kidnapping rushed back to the forefront of his mind.

"Harry…" he began with uncertainty. "How are you doing?"

"I'm… fine, sir."

Everything in the child's posture and tone screamed wariness.

"Just call me Remus, Harry. It's perfectly fine."

"Yes sir. Remus."

He took a step towards the child and froze at the flinch.

"Harry," he said, slowly crouching down to be at eye level. "Please, don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm… I'm going to take care of you now, alright? No one will hurt you anymore, and if they try, I will stop them, okay?"

The child nodded stiffly and whispered a barely audible "Yes sir." Remus supposed this was the best he was going to get so far – of course Harry was not going to just trust him like that, what did he expect?

Harry looked so nervous, so fragile. He wanted to hug the child, to hold him tight and make him _understand_ that he was not like his horrible relatives, that he would never hurt him, never-

"Are you hungry?" he asked instead. "There should be some soup left in the fridge."

Harry nodded again. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Remus thought there was less anxiety in his posture. He got up, slowly, and focused on keeping his movements gentle and obvious as he went through the motions of pouring Harry a bowl.

Trust could not be forced.

It took effort to build, time and consistency, could be ruined by a single mistake.

But he would earn Harry's trust.

Ѻ

Hands fisted in cold muddy grass, Harry was retching the delicious soup the other – Remus – had given him. What a waste.

"Merlin, I'm an idiot."

The man reached for him, and Harry clenched his teeth to avoid biting his tongue.

But there was no blow, just a warm hand rubbing his back in slow circles.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I should have thought that you'd react poorly to side-along apparition."

The spasms of his stomach took a few minutes to settle down, and Harry looked cautiously around him.

Trees and shrubs all around them, and a small wooden cabin that would have looked homely if there had not been moss on the walls and a missing plank on the door.

"This path leads to Crowdale," Remus said, pointing to a thin track, barely visible through the shrubs. "It's a small magical village, though I guess you wouldn't know about it. We're pretty near Hastings, if you know where that is."

Harry shook his head.

A magical village? As in, real magic? He was not sure how to take the information. On the one side, magic did not exist. On the other, they had kind of disappeared from the small apartment and reappeared in the middle of the woods.

Maybe-

"Harry, are you coming?"

Remus was holding the door open, looking at him. Harry shook himself from his spot and resolved to wait until he had more information on the matter.

He passed the threshold and was met with a huge white motorcycle. It was bigger than any he had seen – he could probably lie straight in the side-car.

He glanced back at the small door. How had it fit through? Was it build inside the cabin? He peered around, for another, bigger, door, but did not find anything. Apart from a chair pushed next to a rusty window, the shack was decidedly empty.

"Don't touch the bike, Harry. There are wards."

"Wards?" he asked before he could stop himself, and then tensed, but the man did not strike him.

"The… previous owner is- _was_ exceedingly attached to it."

There was a tightness in Remus' posture, something in the set of his mouth that felt _angry_ , and Harry took a cautious step away. _Adult_ and _angry_ meant he had better not be within easy reach.

But Remus simply sighed, neared the bike and ran a hand on its seat. Harry saw a faint shimmer and then Remus was beckoning him closer. He weighed his options for a second – the man still seemed a bit angry – but it was not like he really had a choice, there. What could he do, run away? When the other could teleport?

He took a few wary steps, being careful not to brush the bike and stopped as soon as he thought he could.

"Please, give me your hand. I'm going to add you to the ward, so you can touch it freely. It doesn't hurt, I promise."

Harry drew a bit closer and let Remus take his hand and place it on the engine.

There was a faint shimmer, followed by a tingling sensation on his palm, but it was over in a second.

"There you go," Remus said with a gentle smile. Harry looked down, not sure how to respond. He was not used to people smiling at him. "Now, Harry, do you need to… um… go to the bathroom?"

There was not a bathroom anywhere, but he did not need to pee, so he shook his head again.

"Alright, well, then I guess it's time to hit the road."

Harry was not sure where they were going, and he did not dare ask. Remus had told him that they were going to travel for a while, just to be safe, but not much more.

He guessed that there were people after the man, though. Remus had a look to him, that reminded Harry of how he felt when Dursley and Piers were Harry-hunting.

Maybe the police were chasing him. It would make sense.

As he climbed in the bike's side-car, Harry shivered.

After all, Remus could be very dangerous.

Ѻ

 **A bit of a short chapter here, but it seemed like a perfect place to stop.**

 **And if you're wondering why Harry would think Remus can be dangerous... well.**

 **You might want to read the next chapter and draw your own conclusions.**


	4. Monster

**Disclaimer:** Fanfiction, thus not mine, yaddi-yaddi-yadda

 **Warnings:** Gore ahead, folks, I toned it down a bit, but still, you have been warned.

 **4\. Monster**

Walter Perry surveyed the scene.

32 years in the police, had let him come across a number of horrible views, but this… Well, if he was honest with himself – and he tended to be – this was not the worst case he had ever worked on. (The rape and disembowelment of five school-aged children in his 8th year working major crimes had that dubious honour so far).

No, not the worst, but still, it was not pretty. In fact, his partner was looking a bit green around the edges.

"Barney," Walter said, "if you could step outside for a moment? We haven't looked at the backyard yet, and the neighbours may have remembered something new."

A nod, and Barney was retreating to the hallway, a hurry in his steps. Walter shook his head. His old partner, Arthur Gibson, had retired the week before, and he had been appointed a novice barely out of school.

Walter looked back at the walls spattered with blood and small bits of flesh, at the body parts strewn about the floor and furniture, and wondered at which point he had become accustomed to the sight of death.

The police had been alerted around five, when a neighbour had visited the house for a tea-party with Mrs. Dursley and found a five years old boy sobbing next to his father's broken body.

The victim, one Vernon Dursley, had been torn apart, seemingly by hand, if the finger-shaped bruises on any chunks of flesh larger than a hand were any indication. Of course, it was probably staged. A human body was tougher than most people realized, and tearing it apart required more strength than the average person had. But Walter had to consider the possibility that it was not.

Looking at the butchery, he really hoped that the handprints were fake.

And that this murder was not the first of a long series.

"Perry? Can you come by?"

Barney's voice, calling from the front porch, brought him back to the present.

"What is it?" he asked as he made his way outside.

Towering a bit over his short partner, stood an old man in a garish tweed jacket, with long silvery hair and a beard worthy of fairy tales. Through half-moon glasses, worried blue eyes locked with his.

Family member? he glanced at Barney, looking for a clue.

"Mr. Dumbledore is a friend of the family," his partner said, with a discrete hand gesture that meant _no proof_. God, but he was glad he had started teaching Arthur's old code to the youngster. "He's looking for a boy named Harry."

"A friend of the son?"

"His cousin apparently," Barney replied.

Walter frowned. Neither the neighbours, nor the son had mentioned a second boy.

"That cousin, he was living here?"

Mr. Dumbledore nodded:

"Yes, he was taken in by Petunia when his parents died. Have you seen him? Is he alright?"

His frown deepened. He had not spent a lot of time searching for clues, but he had taken a look at the rooms upstairs and only one of them had the feel of a child's bedroom. Well, one room was filled with broken toys and some books, but the bed did not have a mattress, so he was reluctant to call it a bedroom.

He looked back toward the interior of the house. His eyes trailed to the white door of a cupboard under the stairs. Passing it, he had idly wondered why it would need shutters.

Now he had an awful suspicion.

Followed by his partner and the old man, he walked to the small door and opened it.

If the dirty cot and thin blanket were not enough clues, the inside of the wooden panel displayed the words "Harry's room", in faded crayon. Just below the H, a few dark spots were spattered on the wood.

Walter had seen old bloodstains enough times to be familiar with the shade.

"Oh," Barney said in a small voice.

Walter pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"We'll have to file a report of disappearance," he eventually said, "possibly abduction."

Barney looked at him, painfully out-of-his-depth, and Walter felt a wave of frustration at his partner for not being Arthur.

"You think the murderer might have…"

"I think nothing," he said abruptly, because the old man was watching them with great attention, and you did not discuss murder and abduction cases in front of the victim's family members.

Did the killer knew the cousin beforehand? Then they might be able to work out a motive, which was better than nothing. If the murderer had killed Mr. Dursley as some form of twisted retribution for the abuse that seemed to have been happening, then there was a good chance that the missing child was still alive.

Alive and in the hands of a very unstable individual, who was either strong enough to rip a full-grown man to _literal_ _shreds_ , or sick enough to spend the time and energy to fake it.

But at least, there would likely not be other deaths, unless the killer was really that unstable, or something triggered a new murder.

The old man, who had been silently observing them, suddenly cleared his throat:

"I'm deeply sorry to interrupt, but is there a way to talk to Dudley or Petunia? Your colleague mentioned she was not…"

"She was still heavily wounded and has been transported to the nearest hospital."

There was a bloody spot on the kitchen's fridge, where the woman had been found, barely breathing. From what he had seen of her state when the paramedics at carted her away, she was probably undergoing emergency surgery right now.

Walter hoped she made it, if only to get a description of the murderer.

And of the missing child. He had not checked but he was pretty sure he would not find pictures of this 'Harry' in the house.

He sighed.

Cases with kidnapping rarely ended well.

Ѻ

Albus Dumbledore was scared.

This did not happen often, and he did not like the feeling one bit.

The Dursleys had been attacked by a muggle murderer, who had taken Harry Potter with them. But it could not be a muggle, because there had been traces – faint, oh so very faint – of dark magic on the scene.

It reeked of Death Eater work, except it could not, because the blood wards should have prevented any wizard with ill intentions from nearing the house, even less so entering and harming its inhabitants.

But Harry had been kidnapped, and no magic Dumbledore had attempted so far had so much as pointed him in any direction, which made _no sense_ , because nothing short of powerful privacy wards – or very dark magic – could have deflected some of the methods he had used.

So, Dumbledore was afraid.

He was afraid for Harry, of course, the boy was barely a child, he must be terrified, he could be hurt.

But he was also afraid for his plans, because no matter how difficult it was to morally justify them, he needed the boy to be alive and at Hogwarts in six years.

Fawkes trilled reproachfully, but he ignored him. The phoenix was merely responding to his feeling of guilt, and Dumbledore did not need another weight on his mind right now.

He had to focus on finding Harry, before it was too late.

Should he reform the Order? Rely on their eyes and ears? But where to direct them? England was big and he only had so many people to help him scour the ever-widening number of possible locations.

He could inform the Ministry, he thought, but it would mean acknowledging his mistake, his carelessness. The scandal would be enormous, his standing in the Wizengamot would plummet – leaving more power to the likes of Malfoy and his ilk – not to speak of his already declining credibility in the public eye.

But only the aurors would have enough pull to really search through all of England and have a decent chance of finding the kidnapper before he slipped from their fingers.

And each day he wasted holding on to his pride, was one more day Harry could be killed… or hurt to the point of uselessness.

With a bone-weary sigh, he knelt to his fireplace.

"Amelia?" he asked the green flames. "May I step through? I have grave news to share."

Ѻ

The bike's engine was purring between his legs, a deep rumble that gave Remus the impression he was riding a big feline instead of a machine.

Sirius was all over the motorcycle, from the flashy design of the metal shapes to the feel of the wards themselves. Faint traces of the man, lingering in the enchantments, in the steel, whispers of past friendship lightly brushing his skin, soothing, as if something in the machine could spy the twisting mess of emotions roiling in his guts. His fingers clenched around the handles, a faint growl stirring at the back of his mind.

Moony was back, it seemed. This was oddly reassuring, in a twisted sort of way. He snorted. Did he truly feel so lonely that he would welcome a monster back? Pathetic. He ignored the disgust on his tongue, the bitter loneliness that whispered _'yes, come back, please, I'll forgive anything, as long as I'm not alone'_ … Tingles of magic against his palms, smells of honey and musk, and a faint grin that said so much without a word-

He shoved the half-formed memory away, biting his lip until the salt-rust taste of blood brought everything back to pained clarity.

Deep breaths.

Gods, he was a mess.

He pulled himself together – as best as he could for now, when every heartbeat was just shoving memories of Sirius at him – and glanced at Harry – _safe, cub, ours_ – as he had done so every five minutes since he had started driving. Tucked inside the vast side-car, the boy was still peering around at the landscapes with an air of wonder and a small smile on his lips.

A knot loosened in his gut. At the back of his mind, a quiet vibration, like a growl that was more a purr. Moony was back, but the wolf was not leaking its usual rage and hunger onto him.

Harry, Remus realized. They both wanted him safe, and that was enough to hold the wolf at bay. For once, they had a common goal.

It rattled, like something that really ought not be, but having an ally, even if only in his mind, was reassuring.

Another glance at Harry, who was shifting around in his seat to look at some receding feature of the landscape, and Remus thought that he could get used to it.

To address more practical matters, Harry needed a scarf, before he caught a cold. Driving in daylight was fine – and even then, mid-spring was still often chilly – but they were probably going to keep through the night. Remus was happy that he had remembered enough transfiguration from his school days to turn Harry's threadbare T-shirt into a thick and warm jacket, and one of his socks into a sturdy helmet (that still smelled faintly like footwear).

Finding good clothes for Harry was going to be the next priority. Well, after finding decent food and shelter.

And making sure no one took his cub away.

Ѻ

 **Remus is an emotional wreck, and it's surprisingly hard to write without going overboard. Though, from my point of view, we're already far past "overboard" and down the railing 300 meters deep into the sea.  
**

 **On Dumbledore. He makes a fascinating character to write, especially when one refuses to let his motivations excuse his actions.**

 **Also, meet Walter Perry, random OC who we might see more of later.**


End file.
